


When you love someone too much you want to steal the moon.

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Fear, Feelings, Fluff, Insecurity, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Soulmates, True Love, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 04:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19310932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The fluffiest smut I'll ever write. Ie very roundabout smut that's not actually smutty at all, because it's a love-fest instead.Or, Dele and Eric love each other too much.





	1. Act One

 

 

It's quite a peculiar feeling, needing someone so much that even when you've had them here for hours, for days, you can't help the knots in your stomach every time you let them out of your sight.

 

He and Eric had been apart for five days, and all he realized during that time was that it was five days too long.

 

Eric steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, droplets of water running down his torso and legs. The light's streaming in from the blinds, creating all sorts of beautiful patterns on his skin.

 

Dele's throat is dry.

 

'God – you look -'.

 

Eric turns around at that, offers Dele a small smile. 'Yeah?'

 

'Yeah.'

 

Eric smiles again and heads for the fridge. Their room is small and cozy, intimate, and Dele is content to watch him drink water, and tidy his suitcase, and check his phone.

 

At last he has to throw a pillow at him, though.

 

'Put some clothes on, I can't stand to look at you.' He sounds grumpy and bitter, but. It's annoying, really. Dele doesn't wanna do anything else but stare at him while he's shirtless like that.

 

And also while he's fully clothed.

 

Which is irrelevant.

 

Just pretend you didn't hear anything.

 

Eric catches the pillow effortlessly and throws it back at Dele, smirks at him for good measure.

 

He goes back to looking at his phone, which is charging, and Dele has no choice but to throw the pillow again.

 

'Seriously. I can't stand to look at you.'

 

He sounds like a petulant teenager, but hey, he's succesful.

 

Eric comes to the bed, slots himself over Dele and raises his eyebrows.

 

'Liar.'

 

'No, it's true. I can't stand -'

 

'Liar,' Eric says, pinning his hands down behind his head.

 

'I can't -' Dele tries to repeat, but then Eric decides to start tickling him, and it's game over, really.

 

Dele's extremely ticklish and within seconds he's laughing uncontrollably, begging for Eric to stop.

 

'Tell me,' Eric says seriously, back to pinning his hands over his head, and Dele can feel himself growing hard.

 

(He's lying).

 

(He's been hard since Eric got out of the bathroom).

 

Dele knows what he's expecting. He's expecting Dele to call him hot, or worse, beautiful, and he's expecting Dele to tell him he's distracting, and that he wants him inside him, now. 'I can't stand -'

 

Eric starts tickling his sides, lightning fast, and Dele laughs so much he thinks his lungs might shut down.

 

Eric lets up, slots his entire body over Dele's and cradles his face in his hands. 'Tell me,' he says, and he bumps his nose on Dele's.

 

There's a lump in his throat, and his voice is barely audible, as Dele tells him.

 

'I can't stand how much I love you.'

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Eric draws back, fear and awe in his eyes, but he doesn't let go of Dele's face, his fingers caressing his cheeks, legs settling between his and forcing him to open his own, to expose himself, to be vulnerable.

 

Dele feels his whole body burn with life. His eyes are watery. His lungs are whimpering, his heart's beating three times a second, his cock is hard, his stomach has been colonized by butterflies. He stares into Eric's eyes and waits for the verdict.

 

It's a long time before it comes, and when it does, it breaks him.

 

'I will stand it for both of us.'

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

They make love at a frantic pace, like their time is running out, and then slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world.

 

Dele feels like he's teetering on the brink of insanity throughout, clinging to Eric desperately, unable to decide what is true – how much time do they really have?

 

How much happiness can a person take?

 

How much happiness can a person allow themselves to have?

 

When Eric climbs off of him Dele feels like crying, and when he turns around to face him he feels like crawling inside his skin.

 

There's something inside him that feels off-kilter, something that feels like a caged animal, something that feels like death.

 

There is never going to be anybody else.

 

Only Eric.

 

Eric.

 

Eric.

 

 

 

 

 

_Eric._

 


	2. Act Two

 

 

It's 2 a.m. and Dele's fast asleep beside him. Eric takes a few moments to just stare at him, stare at his beautiful, unguarded face and commit every detail to memory.

 

He gets up to go to the bathroom, then to the fridge to get some water. The room is a small, open space, the bed and the kitchenette and the sofa all together. They haven't talked about this, but they choose rooms like this whenever they can, rooms that offer them the chance to be together all the time, to see one another even when they are not interacting.

 

When he turns around from the fridge Dele's on his knees.

 

Eric feels his blood run hot in his veins, has to stop himself from gripping the bottle too hard and breaking it.

 

He approaches Dele slowly and nudges his mouth with his fingers. He gives him water and wipes away the drops that run down his neck.

 

They don't speak. Eric feels his hand tremble, almost imperceptibly, and caresses Dele's face to get it to stop.

 

Dele takes him in his mouth, a low, desperate moan in his throat.

 

Eric grips him by the hair, takes turns tugging and caressing, holding the back of his head but not directing his movements, letting him set the pace and give him what he's willing to give.

 

There's something about Dele.

 

About this Dele who hasn't let him go since he saw him at the airport, this Dele who begs to be fucked every two hours, who asks to be held when he's not, who follows Eric everywhere, who watches Eric everywhere.

 

There's something about Eric, too, about this Eric who's scared somebody will pull the rug from under him and he'll be left bare-footed walking on nails.

 

How much happiness is a person allowed to have?

 

Is Dele stocking up on happiness?

 

Eric nudges him, chuckles despite himself at how Dele doesn't want to let go, but obeys, and they settle on the bed. He's lost count of how many times he's been inside Dele today, or yesterday, or the day before. The days blend together in a constant stream of _Dele, Dele, Dele_.

 

Dele looks up at him like he's the only thing that matters.

 

There's something about them.

 

Eric moves inside him, not for a second losing sight of his eyes, the eyes that he wants to look into for the rest of his life.

 

Dele's shivering, and Eric envelops him with his whole body, plants his elbows beside him and says _I'm here, I'm here_.

 

That's when Dele starts murmuring incoherently, when he closes his eyes and says _please_ , and _deeper_ , and _don't stop_ , and _I wish I could, I wish I could, I wish I could..._

 

'What, baby? You wish what?'

 

Dele opens his eyes. He looks at the ceiling, breaths heavy and short. Eric is barely able to coordinate his body, but he holds Dele's face, makes him look into his eyes.

 

'What do you wish, Del?'

 

The question seems too important to let go of.

 

He slows the pace of his thrusts, hoping that will give Dele the needed clarity to respond. All Dele does for a while is breathe, small moans escaping his lips whenever Eric brushes that spot inside him.

 

At last he moves his head up, connects his forehead to Eric's.

 

'I wish I could have your child,' Dele says, and Eric spills inside him.

 

*

 

Eric stays inside him for minutes, cradling him in his arms and breathing him in.

 

Dele seems to have shut down, not opening his eyes, not speaking, not moving.

 

When Eric climbs off of him he's gentle, and when he pulls him towards him he's gentle, and when he places his hand on his temple and prays for him to open his eyes, he's gentle.

 

'I wish I could have your child, too.'

 

Dele opens his eyes.

 

'You do?'

 

He seems shocked.

 

Eric nods.

 

'You don't think it's weird?' Dele's voice is barely a whisper.

 

'That you want my child?'

 

Dele seems to be struggling for words. He opens and closes his mouth several times. 'I meant _carry_ the child,' he says at last.

 

'I know what you meant.'

 

'And you don't think it's weird?'

 

Dele waits with bated breath as Eric stares at him.

 

'I think you might love me too much,' he says, minutes later, and Dele frowns. 'I love you too much, too. That's what happens when you love someone too much. You want impossible things. You want to give them the moon.'

 

Dele's face lights up at that. 'You want to give me the moon?'

 

'Yes,' Eric says, not a beat passing.

 

Dele thinks on that for a minute. 'What if I don't want it, though?'

 

'What do you want, then?'

 

'You.'

 

Just a tiny word. _You_. A simple word. It has Eric's heart breaking and then mending itself, breaking and then mending itself. _You_.

 

He places his fingers on Dele's neck, feather light, feels his pulse jump to the touch. 'You have me.'

 

Dele scoffs. He turns to lie on his back, stare at the ceiling again, and Eric has to follow him, because he can't miss a look, can't miss a tell on his face. Not right now.

 

'You don't understand.'

 

Eric does.

 

He asks anyway.

 

'What, Del?'

 

Dele looks at him, breathes, breathes, breathes. Eric does not. He does not move, does not speak, does not breathe. He can't miss a beat. Not now.

 

'I want to be – Eric. I want to be inside you. You, inside me. I want to be one person. Just – just fucking meld together. Do you understand now? Don't you think it's -'

 

_When you love someone too much you want impossible things._

 

'No.'

 

Eric moves to sit cross legged on the bed and nudges Dele to mirror him. His limbs feel liquid, like they belong to someone else. Dele moves like water, like he belongs somewhere else. A film, maybe, or a dream.

 

The only light inside the room comes from the moon, and all of it is illuminating Dele's face.

 

_When you love someone too much you want to steal the moon._

 

'I want the same thing,' Eric says at last, and sees the relief on Dele's face. 'But we can't,' he adds, and he sees the pain.

 

'Because nobody can, Del. You know that, right? We can _want to_ all we like, but there's only - ' he gestures around the room, 'this'.

 

 _There's only the moon and its light is caressing your face and I want to steal it but I can't. And I want to steal_ you _but I have to earn you, every day of my life._

 

Dele looks around as if he's never seen their surroundings before, then shakes his head, amused at himself. 'I know. It was silly anyw-'

 

' _Not_ silly'. Eric takes his hands in his own and intertwines their fingers, thumb and index and middle and ring and pinky.

 

He leans in, places a kiss to Dele's lips that lasts and lasts and lasts, and when he draws back Dele's out of breath, and Eric says _I will always be here_ , because this is what everything is about. _I won't ever leave you._ This is what it's about.

 

They're terrified.

 

Terrified they'll have to be without one another, that they will be torn apart by life's impossible demands.

 

But when you love someone too much you can do the impossible.

 

This is what everything is about and though it may seem impossible, Dele will never have to lose him. Dele will never have to wonder when the rug will be pulled from under his feet and he'll be left to walk on nails. He will never have to look for someone to hold him, to comfort him, to live for him, because it's Eric who will do it all.

 

He can't steal the moon for him, but he can do _this_.

 

 


End file.
